


Way Enough

by Laihiriel



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Misremembered youth, Niche sports, Pining, Rowing, Successful adulting, adults being competent, crew team, unitards as a fashion statement
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:15:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25788709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laihiriel/pseuds/Laihiriel
Summary: Brienne had forgotten how much she loved being out on the water. Joining the local boathouse and sitting in a scull again after her accident was the best thing she could have done for herself.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 31
Kudos: 119
Collections: Jaime x Brienne Fic Exchange 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kirazi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirazi/gifts).



> Unbowed, unbent, unbetad. My mistakes about spelling, grammar, and crew will stand proud. I haven't written anything serious in years, so in the words of the great prophet of our time Samuel L. Jackson: hold onto your butts.

The morning was crisp, cool and perfect in Brienne’s estimation. It was her favorite time of day: the thin light, the flat glass of the Blackwater and the morning mist ghosting all around made her feel like she knew a secret the rest of the sleeping world could never know. She felt as though she was the only person in the entire universe, there was only her, and the water, and the rhythmic thump of her oars. Brienne pushed back, feeling the power of her legs rocket through her back, her arms, feeling the strength of her hands and shoulders against the resistance of the water, victoriously cutting her scull forward through the flat mirror of the Rush. 

She shifted her grip and watched the tiny tidepools left by her oars swirl in her wake. The sweat pooling on her lower back cooled immediately in the brisk morning, making her skin tingle in the most invigorating way. Mornings like this she felt alive, alive, alive, whole and powerful and complete. She slowed her slide forward, oars hovering over the water before dipping back down again. 

The morning light grew stronger as she continued, but the wake of her oars and her scull obscured her reflection just enough in the water. That suited her just fine; Brienne felt the most herself when she was present in her body, not concerned with her reflection. 

She hadn’t realized how badly she missed rowing until she had picked it back up again earlier this year. She hadn’t rowed since college. Single scull was tremendously different than varsity first seat, but Brienne was finding she preferred this. Her only competition was herself. There were no squabbling coaches or regattas that took up her entire weekend or backbiting teammates all wishing they were setting the in first seat. Granted, rowing without the screaming, pulse-pounding excitement of a race was much more sedate, but all in all she was content with herself and the early morning peace. 

Her watch beeped and Brienne sighed. Time to head in, grab a quick shower at the boathouse and head to work. The museum didn’t open to the public until nine thirty, but Brienne enjoyed the quiet mornings before anyone else was in. It was a bit of a theme in her life, really. 

She made better time back to the boathouse, rowing with the current instead of against it. There was a bit more activity now, other early birds just starting their row, and a few of the competitive teams were milling about before they began practice. Brienne ducked her head as she slipped up to the dock, pulling her oars in to avoid the ankles of other rowers. The teams tended to ignore the single scullers, which suited her fine. She pulled her shell out of the water with ease, balancing the oars in one hand. 

It wasn’t that she wanted to be antisocial, or that she didn’t think she could form some sort of attachment to the people who shared her interests. She simply didn’t feel up to the inevitable stares and questions about the scars on her cheek and neck. Brienne wasn’t ashamed of her scars, but the questions were just always so _personal_ . Questions like ‘what _happened_ to you?’ and ‘did you lose a _fight_?” and ‘mommy, why does that lady’s face look so funny?’ were exhausting the fifth time around, let alone the five hundredth. 

She hadn’t been the prettiest before the accident, but now… 

Well. Between her ball cap and the scull it was easy enough to hide her scar. She nodded at a few of the other vaguely familiar early morning rowers. Brienne didn’t know many of the others, but through her past month of easing back into rowing, she was starting to learn a few faces. Sandor was there, pulling his boat down. He spotted for her on occasion in the weight room and the two exchanged gruff, understanding nods. 

That was what she liked about the early morning rowers: most were gruff and quiet and content to let live. There was no fighting over the machines, no waiting for the stampede of high schoolers to _finally_ get on the water for practice, no awkward, kayaking families in day-glo life vests. 

She waited patiently as Sandor passed her down the dock. “Water should still be glass up by the Sisters,” she told him, referring to the small cluster of rocks away from where the crew teams tended to practice. 

“Aye,” he replied, but he glanced East and Brienne knew he’d take her advice. “Weights tomorrow?” he asked, and she nodded. It was an uncomplicated sort of pseudo-friendship, and they both appreciated it.

He grunted his farewell and continued down the dock. Brienne glanced down at her wrist. An hour until she had to be at work; enough time for a shower and an indulgent cup of coffee at that cute shop near Steel Street. That would be a good way to start the day; certainly it would give her enough time to work on her presentation to the trustees on why the expenditure for the ancient history wing _was_ , in fact, necessary, and that primitive artworks should be preserved and showcased as culturally significant, even if it never drew the crowds the dragon skulls did. It would if they gave her the money to market it properly, and if it w—

“Fuck!” cried a male voice, wheezing in pain. Brienne looked up, startled to find a blonde man doubled over, clutching his abdomen where Brienne had rammed it with her boat. 

“Smith’s great bloody brass balls, watch where you’re going! Don’t you ever look to see if the racks are clear before you wave that thing around?!” 

“I am _so_ sorry,” Brienne squeaked, setting her shell on her designated rack hastily and letting the oars clatter to the floor. “Are you all right?” 

“ _Fine,”_ he snapped. “I’m fine. Just put your stuff away before you actually hurt someone and watch where you’re going.” She bent down to help him, frowning. He sounded vaguely familiar. Someone she’d seen around the boathouse, probably. She hoped he wasn’t too badly hurt. 

“I _am_ sorry, ser,” Brienne said again, gathering up the oars. She turned to inspect him for injury and he froze. 

“ _Brienne?!”_

She gasped, and the oars went clattering to the ground again. Jaime. It was _Jaime._ Jaime _Lannister_ , a man she had not seen since his senior year of college. 

“Jaime,” she breathed. “What—what are you doing here?” 

“What am _I_ … what are you doing here?!” He looked her over once, then once again, lingering. It stopped on her scarred cheek and she turned her head away to hide it. 

“Finishing my workout?” she mumbled, shrugging slightly. 

“You row here? For how long?” He grinned at her, wide and delighted. “I can’t believe it, it’s been what, ten years?” 

It had been more than, really. Ten years since she graduated, so it had been maybe twelve since she had seen him. Wow. He had been a golden senior who decided to make it his mission to pester a lanky freshman who rarely smiled when they first met. They had been on the crew team together. 

“Yes, I guess it has,” she replied, offering him a shy smile. She took a moment to look at him. He looked good. Better than good, really, he’d filled out a bit more since he was 22, and his hair was shorter. There was a beard, too, just starting to hint at gray. It was an attractive look on him. 

Gods above and below, she always did think he was handsome, even back then. It wasn’t fair that he’d grown even more so. No cloakpin, she noticed, so he wasn’t married, and Brienne was immediately embarrassed to think of such a thing. He was still staring at her and beaming, like he couldn't take his eyes off her. Truth be told, she couldn’t either. 

“Y-yeah, I row here. Only started getting back to it about two months ago,” she said. “I like the mornings. I’m out here every day. You?” 

His eyes traced over her face, and settled down somewhere around her shoulders. “I work here, actually,” Jaime replied, puffing up with pride. “I’m the head coach for the competitive teams. I’m normally not here in the mornings, but Hildy had some family emergency so I’m filling in coaching the intermediates. I’m glad I did. I can’t believe you’ve been here two months and I had no idea. If I had I would have been sure to run into you sooner.” 

Brienne blushed. “It… it is a nice surprise to see you,” she agreed. Jaime grinned. 

“So we’ll have to make a point of catching up, and maybe with fewer shells into my gut,” he smirked. “Here, I have to run to the team, but let me at least get your cell. We can catch up over coffee or something! I’d love to hear what you’ve been up to.” 

The Jaime she remembered from college was much more reserved than the one in front of her. It was unsettling, the way memory competed with the man before her: like puzzle pieces that almost matched. But it was also kind of nice. Maybe age had mellowed out his sharp tongue and prickly pride the way it had softened her defensive walls. Brienne felt a wave of nostalgia.

Still, maybe it would be nice to catch up with an old crush, love friend. 

“I’d like that,” she admitted. Jaime beamed again.

“Great, give me your phone, I’ll tap my number in and we can text to figure out when works best for you.” 

“Oh. My phone… it’s uh, in the lockers upstairs,” she replied sheepishly. 

“Ahhh, shit. So is mine,” he admitted, running a hand absently through hair much shorter than it ever was. His hand was… _oh_. Brienne tried not to stare, but it clearly didn’t work. 

He was missing two fingers, and his remaining three were curled awkwardly inward, twisted like a question. He followed her stare and winced minutely. “Yeah, pretty ugly,” he muttered. 

“Mine too,” Brienne said softly, turning her ruined cheek to him. 

Jaime made a strange noise, like a choked-back mix of sympathy and rage. 

“Yikes, Tarth,” he said softly. “Fight a bear or something?” 

“Or something,” she replied, giving him a slight smile. “Long story, though.” 

“Yeah. Mine, too,” Jaime sighed. “So we’ll have to exchange war stories later.” 

“All right,” Brienne agreed. She didn’t quite believe he’d follow through with it, but she hadn’t seen him in so long, it was worth toying with the notion. 

He gave a small smile, bright and boyish and looked her up and down once more. “By the gods, Brienne, it’s so good to see you. I didn’t think… well. We’ll catch up. Not now, but _soon._ So don’t stand me up.” 

She flushed at the idea that anyone could stand Jaime Lannister up, and he laughed again. He looked so _happy._ Brienne couldn’t remember the last time anyone looked so happy to see her. 

“I-I wouldn’t!” Brienne protested. 

“No, you’re too noble. Or at least you were back then. I can’t imagine that changed very much.”

“All right,” she said again, feeling clumsy and tongue-tied from the shock of it all. “I’d like that, Jaime,” she added, because mumbling like a shy school girl at him was _not_ the impression she wanted to give anymore. She worked very hard to get the confidence she never had as a gangly teenager and she wasn’t about to let Jaime get the better of her now. 

The look on his face made it worth it. “Great,” he said. “Great. Okay. I am really late now but…. I’m around. I’m always here, I’ll see you.” He stepped closer, and before she knew it Jaime had his arms wrapped around her. She automatically hugged him back and was immediately hit with a scent she had forgotten: sunblock and water and a faint tang of sweat, and his distinct _Jaime_ smell underneath it all. Brienne was pulled under by a sudden wave of memories—late nights and libraries and laughter, awkward touches and a few feverish kisses, the long goodbye when he graduated. She breathed deep into his neck, and he held on maybe a moment or two too long and then—

“Shit. I’m late,” he mumbled. “All right, Brienne. I’ll see you.” 

And with that Jaime stepped back and looked at her once more, eyes lingering long on her face, hands slowly sliding against the skin of her arms before letting go . He jogged down the ramp to the impatient-looking team already in their boats. As Brienne watched him he turned back once to wave at her, big and exuberant. She returned it weakly, then let her head thump against the rack once his back was turned again. Her legs shook with exertion and adrenaline. 

Jaime Lannister. She never thought she’d see him again. After he had graduated, she had looked him up on WhiteBook, but he never made much of an online presence of himself. A few photos with his sister, a few with his brother, all posted on their pages, but nothing of the man himself. 

She had not been prepared. She still wasn’t prepared, even after it was over. Gods above, he still looked good, smelled good. She had thought she was over their tentative almost-a-relationship in college, and she was! Truly! It was just that her calm only lasted until he smiled at her and said her name with such fondness and she _wanted_ again. 

Brienne sighed and righted herself, peering down the dock to watch as he clambered into the spotting speedboat. He was looking back, and he waved once at her, then set out. 

Jaime _fucking_ Lannister was back in her life, and Brienne had no idea what to do next.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your incredibly kind words on the last chapter. I haven't written in ages, but it was very encouraging. 
> 
> Crew lingo is very weird. 
> 
> Thank you to my very dear editors, who know who they are (and who will get due credit once all names are revealed).

"Is that him?” Sansa asked. She was perched on the erg, looking across the workout room to survey a golden man-bun posturing on the weights. Brienne eyed the man critically. He’d blow his knee out in two years if he kept lifting like that, but she suspected the weights were more of a prop for the women milling around the gym than his own health. 

“No, Sansa,” Brienne replied patiently. “I’m not sure who that is, I’m not usually here this time of day, otherwise I’d introduce you.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “What do I want to meet that guy for? Really, Brienne, I’m here because you look so much happier since you started rowing, and I wanted to see what the fuss was about.” Ostensibly, that  _ was _ what had prompted Brienne to take Sansa to the boathouse on a busy Saturday morning. It was the only thing that would: there were too many people here for Brienne to be truly comfortable, and the wall of mirrors to help people check their form tended to be her worst nightmare. Thankfully the erg in the corner was free, and Sansa was drawing so much attention to herself that Brienne doubted anyone was paying attention to her face. However, given that Sansa was none-too-subtly inquiring about every blonde man they saw, Brienne was certain this entire day was more of a scouting mission for the petite redhead. 

She probably shouldn’t have confided to Sansa about running into her longtime crush from college, but she needed to tell  _ someone _ , and Podrick had been out with strep throat for a week. Briene should have known Sansa would dive head-in to meddling, but she didn’t have to like it. 

“Jaime isn’t here, Sansa. And you’re way too uncontrolled on the slide forward, you’ll catch a crab if you don’t slow it down.” 

“You never said anything about  _ crabs!” _ Sansa said, attention back on Brienne fully. “Do they grab the oars or something?”

“No, it’s–” Brienne replied, sighing. “It’s an expression. It means getting your oar caught in the water when you go to lift it up. You catch a crab and your rhythm is thrown completely off. Sometimes the oar gets pulled out of your grip.” 

“Why don’t you just call it getting the oar stuck, then?” Sansa sniffed, turning her attention once again to the other patrons of the workout room. 

“Oh, who knows. It’s just one of those things,” Brienne shrugged. “I’m sorry the weather didn’t hold for us to go out on the water proper today, but at least I can show you something indoors. It just means when we do you’ll feel a bit more comfortable with what your body needs to do.” The rain beat a gentle tattoo outside the windows. If it had been her alone, Brienne wouldn’t have minded rowing in the light rain, but she knew that kind of weather challenge would absolutely put any novice off the sport. Blisters, hands frozen to the oars, hair plastered to your face? Brienne liked Sansa too much to subject her to that right out of the gate. So for now the bright, mirrored workout room it was, with Sansa on an erg and Brienne counting out and giving her advice on posture. 

“You make it sound so awful, Brienne! How bad can it be? You always look like a graceful swan when you row. We’ll go out together next week,” Sansa glibly said. “What about him? He’s been staring at you an awful lot.”

“That’s Sandor, not Jaime. He’s a friend. He’s probably wondering what I’m doing here, we normally only see each other in the mornings. Drop your shoulders a bit, otherwise you’ll wrench something,” Brienne replied before adjusting Sansa’s posture. “Why are you so interested in meeting Jaime anyway? I haven’t even seen him since I literally bumped into him, and that was more than two weeks ago.”

“Brienne! Come on! This is the first man I’ve heard you talk about since you and Tormund split up,” Sansa exclaimed, as though Brienne was dense for not understanding the excitement. “You have brought him up on more than one occasion! I need to make sure that he’s worth it. You are too beautiful a soul to be saddled with some loser.”

Brienne felt her anger start to dissipate. Sansa may not have actually wanted to row, but when she said things like that, it was hard to stay frustrated with the meddling. Sansa had such a good heart, and like Brienne, knew the importance of armoring it. 

“You’re making an awful lot of assumptions,” Brienne said instead. “Just because I had hoped for that with him when I was in college doesn’t mean that’s what either of us want or are looking for now, Sansa. It’s not like one of your Wallmark movies.”

“Only because you won’t let it,” Sansa replied with more steel than expected. She slid forward to set the erg bar back in its rest, then turned to look at Brienne. “I’m not saying it’s going to work and it will be happily ever after with rainbows and kittens or whatever, but I  _ am _ saying you should let yourself be open to the experience.” She reached over and patted Brienne’s hand with her small, dainty one. “Tell you what, you keep teaching me about crabs and feathers and sliding seats and I’ll stop bugging you about him, but if he just so happens to wander in, you point him out, okay? Then we can go for coffee when we’re done here and you can regale me with stories of your misspent rowing youth.”

“Deal,” Brienne said with a smile, feeling the tension of her shoulders finally start to relax. It wasn’t that Sansa was wrong, or that Brienne was prickly when talking about Jaime, it was just that the entire encounter left her feeling slightly unsettled. They hadn’t run into each other again, even though Brienne had varied up her schedule a bit to see if she could. She thought they just kept missing each other. Ships in the night. There was a part of her that couldn’t shake the sensation that their morning meeting had been her only chance and she had utterly botched it by not having her phone, but that was irrational. Brienne took great pride in being rational and poised. 

“Have you asked after him?” 

“ _ Sansa.” _

“Last thing, I swear, Bee. I just want to know if you took initiative and asked about him. He works here, did you leave a message at the front desk or anything? Drop your phone number off there?”

Brienne flushed red. Now that Sansa said it, it seemed like such a simple solution. She hadn’t done that. Instead Brienne had asked after Jaime to some of the staff she had become friendly with, asked Sandor, asked a few of the other women she had chatted with politely in the locker room. She hadn’t learned anything particularly useful: Jaime was universally regarded as too handsome for words, which she already knew, he was dedicated to the boathouse and always available to help, which she expected, and he was, in a lot of ways, standoffish. Apparently he refused to mix work with pleasure, and the biggest gossip about him was how a man that handsome never seemed to  _ be _ with anyone. He was a dedicated bachelor, as far as everyone knew, and though he would go on an occasional date, it never seemed to amount to much. There was some speculation that Jaime was gay, but Brienne was doubtful. Renly had never so much as mentioned that back in college, and back then he would have: Renly was able to sniff out homosexuality like a truffle pig. 

“...I hadn’t thought of it,” Brienne confessed, and Sansa laughed.

“Well, I’ve done the slidey-seat rowing part indoors and my hands now hurt. Finish giving me a tour of the boathouse and when we’re done, you’re leaving your number at the front desk for him. We’ll do it in a note or something so you don’t get all self-conscious.”

“All right then, come on. I’ll take you down to the racks,” Brienne replied with a small smile. Sansa eagerly hopped off and headed over to refill her water bottle, expertly ignoring the solid gaze of the man-bun in the corner. Sandor raised an eyebrow at Brienne, and she shrugged. 

“She said she was interested,” Brienne murmured as she passed him. 

“Too scrawny for a good rower. Little bird like that seems like the type to cox,” he grunted. 

“She might surprise you. Be nice if she comes back,” Brienne scolded. “You’re right that she probably won’t, but it won’t kill you to be slightly encouraging.” 

Sandor grunted again, and Brienne fought the urge to roll her eyes as she moved on. Sandor had a strange possessiveness over the boathouse, and he didn’t have much patience for the weekenders and pudgy office-workers that took a session for team bonding. She didn’t blame him, not really, but it was irritating to have that gruffness directed at one of her dearest friends. She made her way over to the exit and murmured an indifferent thank you to the person holding the door. 

“Of course. I haven’t gotten that much more rude since college.”

Brienne jerked up, staring at Jaime’s familiar green eyes. They were crinkled up again in humor, and she had the sudden burning desire to map his laugh lines with her mouth. 

“Jaime,” she breathed. “Hello.” He was there in the doorway, right  _ there _ , and all of the ridiculous anguish of the past few weeks disappeared like a wake behind her. 

“Brienne,” he replied, voice one too amused to be truly sardonic. He had always been like that with her, teasing and taunting, trying to rile her up to a snapping point. She never really told him, but she liked that he pushed her, tried to get under her skin. He was one of the few then that did. 

“H-how are you?” she asked inanely, leaning awkwardly on the door jam. Rote polite conversation had been her savior on numerous occasions; it was an automatic default while her brain caught up. 

His lips quirked up as though he was trying not to laugh at her. “Better, thanks. I wouldn’t recommend getting strep, though. I’ve gotten more sleep this past week than I have in a good twenty years.”

“You were sick?” Brienne replied. She felt irrationally concerned and worried about his health. It must have shown—her face had always been as transparent as glass—because Jaime broke into a wide smile, all teeth and lines and warmth. If Brienne was the sort to go into a swoon, she would have at that smile. All she had instead was a sort of jittery feeling in her stomach. 

“I was. I haven’t been that sick since that one time the entire team got the flu in college, do you remember?” he said, sounding pleased. 

“...I remember.” Brienne murmured. “I was so worried about your fever and the fact that you couldn’t keep anything down that I forced you to get to the clinic. They put you on a fluid drip for the night and you complained the entire time.” 

“You stayed with me until they kicked you out. And when you came down with it the next week, you stubbornly refused to let me help you,” Jaime reminisced. “You always were as stubborn as an aurochs. Remember how I sent you all those takeout deliveries of soup and said they were from your dad so you’d actually accept?”

Brienne smiled softly at the memory. She had been so confused about it: her dad had insisted he had no clue what she was talking about and Jaime had been strangely persistent in asking if she ate, if she liked it, would she have picked something else. It had taken her a bit but she eventually put it together. 

That had been the first time she kissed him. She’d gathered her courage and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek and thanked him for making sure she was taken care of when she was sick, and had promptly run away while he stood there stupefied. 

She hadn’t thought about that in  _ years _ . 

Behind them, Sansa squeaked, clearly unable to contain herself. Brienne belatedly realized they were completely blocking the door, standing a touch too close. Jaime’s smile immediately shifted into something polite. Customer service. Brienne had her own “for the public” expression, though she had been told hers was much more dour. His shoulders stiffened and his curled-question hand slid behind his back as he stepped wider into the hall, holding the door more open for Sansa to pass. Sansa stayed exactly where she was, staring at the pair of them in unholy glee. 

“Ah, excuse me, miss.”

“Jaime, this is my friend Sansa. Sansa, my— erm, this is Jaime.” What was she supposed to say Jaime  _ was _ to her? Brienne hoped neither of them noticed her stumble. “She wanted to try rowing, but the weather had the better of us today,” Brienne said quickly. His demeanor relaxed again, and while his smile was still polite, he seemed far more open than he had a second ago. As though realizing how rude they were being blocking the door, they all moved into the hall and clustered by the big windows facing the river. Brienne instinctively hugged the wall with her left, hiding the valley of her scar. Jaime did the same thing, she noticed. His hand was at his back, right to the wall to shield it. Her eyes flicked down to his hand, then up to his. He did the same: down to her cheek, then he met her gaze. 

“Brienne has told me so much about the sport that I just had to see it for myself!” Sansa effused. “Do you row with her here?” Brienne wanted to murder her; Sansa  _ knew _ Brienne rowed alone. 

“You’ve got one of the best teachers on the planet, then,” Jaime replied with a quick glance to Sansa, then back up to Brienne. It made her feel warm to her toes. “Brienne is the best rower I’ve ever met.”

“Ah, I’m… I’m rather out of practice,” Brienne demurred. She was still learning the differences between single scull and the 8-seat she did in college. Her form with two oars instead of the one was occasionally still shaky. Muscle memory still put her in first seat, setting the pace of the slide and putting the rest of her team to shame with her brutal, powerful efficiency. 

“Still not so good with a compliment, hmm?” he replied, grin softening into something fond. “Maybe that’s what you ought to be practicing, not your form.” 

Brienne stood straighter and scowled. “Really, that’s not—”

“Untrue!” Sansa cackled beside her. “Goodness me, you’ve got Brienne’s number all right, Jaime!” 

“Do I indeed,” Jaime said, looking expectantly at Brienne. She blushed. 

“Jaime, do you practice with Brienne?” Sansa asked innocently. 

“Ah. I don’t, actually,” he said, and Brienne heard something shift in his tone. He was back to that polite formality, and she frowned at him thoughtfully. 

“Why not?” She asked, before Sansa had a chance to. 

Jaime looked at her, eyes settling over the valley that carved down her cheek, and Brienne instantly understood. She thought of the early days after her surgery stitching back together the tattered rents on her face, the strange numbness in some spots and the sharp stabs when she tried to smile or talk. She thought of how she still avoided that street, and she thought of the lawsuit pending against the perpetrators. She didn’t know what had happened to Jaime, but she did know the way your world shattered and shifted when your body changed so drastically. Brienne knew about that feeling of betrayal and shame when simple things, things that a child mastered in their earliest stages of life became a painful struggle. Smiling. Talking. In his case, holding. Brienne couldn’t imagine what she would have done if her hands had been injured the way his had been.

But that was why she was here to begin with, wasn’t it? Brienne had been tired of feeling weak and pitiful and sick. She had been tired of needing to constantly be on guard for sharp stares and casual cruelty. She joined the club because she wanted to find joy again and impulsively did it with something she had excelled at. Rowing had always made her feel powerful, strong, and her height and broad shoulders were an asset, not a scandal. She didn’t know how long Jaime was into his recovery. It was probably longer than her, given the fluidity of his movements. 

In that instant, Brienne wanted him to have that same joy and peace. He had been the best, and he clearly still loved it. He wouldn’t be running this place if he didn’t. But teaching others and helping them succeed didn’t hold a candle to that feeling of being on the water in the early morning with nothing but yourself and the mist. Jaime deserved that. Resolve strengthened her spine, and she looked down at his hand. 

“Why not, Jaime?” she said again. He looked up at her, and there was a flash of annoyance on his face, one she remembered well from their youth. She refused to let him stew in bitterness, and barreled on before he could stop her. “If I was good, you were the best. Even after you graduated, you were a legend.” 

His face grew stormy, and Brienne stepped closer, looking into his face. “There’s no reason you couldn’t again. Maybe not to college competition, but I’m not doing that either. Single scull is different. Row with me. In the mornings. We can practice together.”

Jaime looked as though he wanted to be angry, but all he could do was stare up at her in astonishment. Brienne itched to touch him. She wanted to run her long fingers into his hair and cradle his face and tell him he wasn’t broken or damaged, or if he was it didn’t make him lesser. 

“.... I had forgotten how you could look at me,” he murmured, and Brienne startled. She was  _ certain _ he hadn’t meant to say that out loud. 

“How I  _ what _ ?” she said faintly. 

“How you look at me with those ridiculous eyes of yours,” he repeated, and Brienne felt her entire body flush. She swayed forward, and she wanted… she wanted to—

“Um,” Sansa said meekly, and Brienne exhaled noisily, taking a step away from Jaime. She saw his polite walls come back up, but he stayed rooted to the spot. 

“W-well,” Brienne said awkwardly. “We uh.” 

“You have plans,” Jaime said. “I... right. Yeah.”

“We don’t have anything set in stone,” Sansa immediately said sharply, staring at the pair of them. Jaime gave her a tight, polite smile. “I can go find the boats myself. Brienne, text him your schedule so you can figure out when you’ll practice together!” She promptly strode down the hall, giving Brienne a look so pointed that Brienne felt like she should check for blood. 

Briene turned back to Jaime, feeling unmoored now that the moment has passed. He was still giving her that polite face, but his fingers were twitching the way they used to when he was nervous. “Well, I probably should find her before she gets into too much trouble,” she said.

“Of course.”

“But Jaime, you should row with me. Think about it. If you have your phone I’ll give you my number and we can coordinate when works best.” 

That seemed to startle him out of whatever daze he was in, and he gave her his sardonic smile. “And I should only reach out about rowing?”

Brienne felt the weight of Sansa’s wordless threat, of their long missing years, of their almost more than a friendship. “No,” she said bravely. “Whenever you like. About whatever you like. I want to get to know you again.” 

Jaime looked up at her again, his hand twitching as though he were going to touch her. “I want that too. Go find your friend. Here.” He reached into his pocket and fiddled with his phone, handing it to her unlocked and on the contacts page. 

“Will you row with me if I do?” she challenged.

“I thought I could reach out whenever,” he teased, the warmth back in his voice.

“You can, but I’m serious. I want you to row with me.”

“...We’ll see.” 

“I suppose I can’t ask for more,” Brienne said, then handed him his phone back. “Done.” They stood there a moment longer, staring at each other, before the heavy thunk of the door as someone left the workout room shook them apart. 

“I row at 5:30 am,” she said suddenly. “Every day, unless it’s dangerous.”

“Every day?” Jaime echoed, smiling. 

“For about an hour. If you wanted to row with me,” Brienne said, feeling suddenly much more sure of herself. “You should.” With that, Brienne turned and walked off after Sansa, feeling much better about it all. 

Sansa, as it turned out, was waiting to pounce just around the corner. 

“Were you  _ eavesdropping? _ ” Brienne exclaimed as Sansa grabbed her arm with a surprising amount of force.

“Brienne. Why didn’t you  _ tell me?! _ ” Sansa demanded. “You said you knew him in college, not that he was the love of your life!”

“He is  _ not _ the love of my life!” Brienne hissed, scowling down at Sansa and feeling horribly seen. “I knew him in college, that’s it! We never dated, and anything that might have been I was certain was in my head. We never dated, we never slept together, and the few times we kissed we pretended that it never happened until the next time it did.” It had left her feeling so confused and hurt at the time. 

“Brienne, that man is in love with you. You’re his one that got away,” Sansa said fervently. “I would stake my entire life savings on it.”

Brienne immediately flushed. “Sansa, please leave it. We were friends once, years ago, and I’d like us to try to be friends again.” She started to lead the way down the hall towards the boat racks, but Sansa would not be deterred. 

“But you’re attracted to him, too, right?” Sansa said, keeping pace. “Brienne, you  _ have _ friends. Don’t downplay your attraction to him because you’re terrified of rejection, that’s how you stay in ‘just friends’ limbo.” 

Brienne froze, heart racing like it was the last 100 yard sprint in a regatta. Sansa had an understanding of people you could cut yourself to ribbons on, but she usually diffused it with a warm personality. To have that razor insight flay her open felt horrible, even if she knew Sansa was right. 

“You’ve already been without him since college and I bet you still wish it  _ had _ been more than just friends then, too. So just… be honest with yourself, Bree. And if it’s more, be honest with him, too. The worst that happens is that he says no, and what, you don’t have Jaime Lannister around anymore. But you know what that’s like already, so just go for it.” Sansa caught Brienne’s arm and squeezed it, smiling gently up at her. 

Brienne took a deep breath, then another for good measure. This conversation was uncomfortable and awkward, but Sansa wouldn’t have said anything at all if she didn’t care deeply. And that, more than anything, made Brienne feel better. 

“All right. I might not be honest out loud just yet, but… you’re not wrong.” 

“I’ll take it,” Sansa crowed. “Now I think I’m ready to go get coffee.”

“But what about the boats?”

Sansa smiled, then patted Brienne’s arm as though she were a precocious child. 

“They’ll be there next time.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne flirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so incredibly pleased that this little fic is getting so much positive feedback. Thank you all so much. Eventually there will be more rowing in this fic, I swear, but it will not be in this chapter.

Jaime didn’t show up the next morning to row, nor the day after that, nor the one after that. Brienne wasn’t particularly surprised, but she did feel oddly disappointed. He had texted, though: a quick note that said  _ ‘this is jaime _ 🦁’. It had made her smile despite herself. She had texted back that was how she was going to put his contact into her phone, and he had sent a laughing emoji. 

That was how he tended to text, she found, in emoji. Or it was in strange run-on sentences that she realized were his voice-to-text feature. Running around at the museum often kept her from texting back, but it was nice to glance down and see his opinion on his breakfast, or on the condition of the water, or on any other inane thought that seemed to cross his mind. He didn’t even seem to need a response, he was simply sharing parts of his day. He let her reply at her own pace, and it made her warm up to their digital chatting faster than she ever had for anyone else. She wondered if the pace was better for him, too. His thumb wasn’t injured but it had to be much slower pecking out letters on the phone for him. Brienne appreciated that he went through the trouble to text at all. When she mentioned how glad she was for his texts, he had replied that he was old, but he wasn’t old enough to be a relic in her museum, and basic modern technology wasn’t beyond him. That had made her snort out a laugh so loud Pod had peeked in around the corner to see what was wrong. Brienne had waved him off, but it didn’t keep the grin off her face. 

And apparently that was all it took for Jaime to once again be front and center in her mind. She thought about him during her lunch break, when she picked up her dry cleaning, when she was at the boat house. In many ways, Brienne hated it. Jaime always made her feel too  _ much _ and too off-guard, and it was no different now. Why did he suddenly get to be back in her life again, taking up so much of her precious mental space? It was ‘fifteen and shy around the boy she liked’ all over again. Brienne fought hard against that nascent insecurity. She worked hard to fight those demons, and she was  _ happy _ with her life, satisfied with her choices! She was proud of her job, she was proud of her rowing, and she was coming to terms with the deep groove that bisected her face from her temple to her chin. 

She was very curious about his life in the intervening years of their acquaintance. The fact that he seemed to be a confirmed bachelor was unexpected. A man as gregarious and outgoing as Jaime should have settled down with someone, especially given his opinions on family. Even she had a few relationships, and Brienne was never one to make that a priority in her life. Then again, Jaime always had been incredibly choosy with his dates in college. Cersei had constantly set him up, Jaime had constantly turned them down: beautiful slim doll-like women who knew exactly what to say to charm. When she was younger, Brienne would have given a limb or two to be those women, but Jaime had always privately complained to her about them: their vanity, their lack of physical strength, their lack of opinions. It had made her feel special at the time–the cool girl who wasn’t like the others. Now, the notion seemed just as shallow as only wanting those girls because they were pretty. 

Jaime always did enjoy subverting peoples’ expectations, even if it was simply to lower their opinion so he didn’t have to try. Twelve years, though…. She really would have thought that Jaime had found someone to be with, someone to shower all that love he hid deep down. She’d only had the tiniest taste back then, what it felt like to blossom under the light of his fond regard. Surely  _ someone _ else had bloomed the way she had. 

But for all the emotion he stirred up like silt from the bottom of the river, he never showed up at the docks. She went out every morning to row and was always just a little disappointed to only see Sandor. He was busy, she knew he was. He kept texting her photos of his team and selfies on the johnboat, but he never showed. 

She managed to swallow her feelings about it all for several days. And then, just as she had finished a row, Jaime Lannister was waiting for her on the dock with a charming grin, as though he hadn’t been ignoring her pointed invitations for nearly a week. 

“Need a hand? I’ve only got one and a half to spare, but they’re yours if you’d like,” he said as she paddled in, resting one oar on the damp red wood. 

“Jaime,” she said inanely. She instantly kicked herself. Why was his name one of the only things she could ever manage to say to his face? Here she was, a woman grown and scarred and strong, able to hold her own against money-grubbing investors and bar flies alike, but a wide smile from this particular handsome man stunned her to silence. It was downright  _ galling.  _

“Here, let me grab those,” he said, kneeling down to unscrew the oars out of the oarlocks and lifting it before she could object. Well, unstrapping always was a bit of an unwieldy process; Brienne wasn’t about to turn down help. 

“Thank you,” she replied, handing him her second oar to hold while she rose out of the boat. This part had been easier in the wider 8-seat shells than the needle-thin single seat sculls; Brienne privately despaired that he would see her as graceless as a giraffe on roller skates. He was a  _ coach _ , she told herself sternly.  _ No one  _ looked good climbing in and out of a boat, and it was his  _ job _ to watch them do that. Jaime reached over and steadied her as she shifted her weight back onto the dock, and the sudden shock of his warm hand on her bare arm was almost enough to send her toppling into the cold morning water. 

“Steady there, Queen Bee,” Jaime said with a laugh. “Can’t have you taking a swim in the Rush, you’d probably die of four different diseases.”

It was probably true. Everyone knew the Rush was ideal for boating but absolutely not for swimming. She looked up at him as she pulled her shell from the water. “I can’t believe you still remember that nickname,” she said instead. He’d given it to her the first time he’d seen her in her racing unitard, the old Stormlands black and yellow she’d worn during tryouts. He hadn’t been the first, or only person to accuse her of looking like a particularly oversized wasp, but he had been the only one to call her a queen. 

“Me? Forget you? I’m almost insulted,” Jaime replied with an easy smile. “No. I wanted to make sure I finally caught you today. Can you do a quick cup of coffee? I know you’re busy, we don’t have to go anywhere.” He gestured down and Brienne spotted two large cups, each stamped with the cheerful smiling logo of her favorite cute little shop. He paid attention, she noticed. He remembered that she texted him from there. “I hope I still know your coffee order. That hasn’t changed, has it?” 

Brienne looked at him, taking in the laugh lines on his face and the trim of his beard. It was so different, but that expression, wry and hopeful…that wasn’t anything new. “No,” Brienne said softly. “That hasn’t changed. Thank you.” He grinned at her and picked up the coffee cups one at a time with his left. He favored his left in general, she noticed. Was his grip not very strong? How recent was his accident? 

Jaime must have caught her staring because he shifted, shielding his hand with his body from her gaze. “Well, are you going to let it get cold or what?”

Brienne rolled her eyes, but was secretly pleased there was still his old Lannister bluster in him. It felt familiar. She shifted her scull on her shoulder and nodded. “Lead the way.”

After a quick trip to the racks to set her boat down, Jaime led them up to a section of the boathouse she’d never been before. Brienne had seen it from the water, of course, the railing around the widow’s walk and the narrow, third-story windows. It was blocked off to staff only, and Brienne wasn’t one to fumble where she didn’t belong. Jaime gestured for her to follow, grinning down at her from two steps up. 

“So this is how the taller half lives…” he mused, deliberately looming over her. 

“I’m _maybe_ two inches taller than you, not a foot and a half,” she grumbled, and he laughed. 

“Maybe we’re both giants from beyond the Wall,” he teased, leading her up past several storage areas and some cramped offices. No one else was up there, and it felt like he was letting her in on some great secret. 

Jaime took her up to the widow’s walk, grinning when she gasped slightly at the view. There were two folding chairs stashed inside, and Brienne set them up as Jaime balanced their coffee on the railing. 

“Perks of being staff?” she asked once they sat and stared out over the morning water. It wasn’t a big cupola, maybe six feet by six feet, and their chairs were tucked close to each other. Brienne stretched out her long legs, resting them on the white fence enclosing them. 

“There had to be something,” Jaime replied, raising his coffee to her in salute. “It certainly isn’t the pay.”

“Since when does a Lannister care about pay?” Brienne snorted with a cocked brow. 

“Since he got unceremoniously cut off for refusing to follow in a miserable old man’s footsteps,” Jaime retorted, and Brienne froze. It was the kind of thing they’d joke about once, but now she thought of her own father and her heart hurt. 

“I’m sorry, Jaime,” she said softly. He had loved his family so much. Getting cut off must have killed him. He looked at her, startled.

“... You really haven’t changed, have you?” Jaime murmured. “Just as noble and compassionate as always.” 

“I don’t know,” Brienne said, looking out over the water. The skin of her torn cheek pulled as she turned her head, tucking back the hair she usually left shielding her face. “I’ve changed a bit.” 

Jaime leaned forward, concerned, and he looked as though he wanted to touch it. Brienne thought she’d let him, even though her skin could be so tender there. 

“No,” he said firmly. “Not in the ways that matter.” 

“I can’t smile as well on that side anymore,” she blurts out. It’s not what she expected to say, and it’s not something she ever confessed to missing, not to anyone. 

Jaime’s face grew soft. “Maybe,” he conceded. “But I’m still happy to see it all the same.” 

Brienne blushed, feeling her heart stutter in her chest, and he grinned all the more. “Oh,” she mumbled, feeling deeply pleased. “I didn’t know it was something you cared about.” 

“Brienne, making you laugh so hard people hear you across a field has always been a point of pride,” he admits, rocking back in his chair and nudging her leg with his. “I don’t think I’ve done it since we’ve run back into each other, but that will change soon enough.”

She didn’t want to admit that she already had, so instead she raised a brow at him. “Big talk from a man who won’t accept my daily racing invitation,” she said, nudging his leg back. He groans sheepishly. 

“Ah. Well. I may be avoiding that, yes,” he conceded. 

“Why?” Brienne asked.

Jaime was silent a moment longer, taking a long sip of his coffee. She wondered if it was still the ridiculous sweet drinks with very little coffee in it. While he mulled over his words, Brienne looked at him. He was still all long lines and square jaw, even if his golden hair had gone a bit more sandy with age. She liked it, though, now that she had time to properly appreciate it. It was a bit like some of the artefacts at the museum: perhaps a bit more tarnished and weathered, but to her all the more beautiful for having survived as long as they had. Jaime must have felt her eyes on him, for he turned to look back at her, smiling softly. 

“You know, I always did think you were much more brave than me,” he said. Brienne was confused. 

“What does that have to do with rowing?”

“It’s related, believe it or not, Miss jump-the-gun,” Jaime replied, smirking at her over the coffee cup. “You asked, you do have to let me answer.”

“At the rate you’re going we’ll be here all day.”

“Oh, and what a pity that would be,” he drawled, looking her over head to toe. Brienne blushed again. Seven take her, that was a  _ look. _ The  _ appraising _ kind, the one handsome men gave attractive women. As dense as she could be about attention garnered her way, there was no mistaking that. Sansa was  _ right.  _ He might not be in love with her, but he was attracted to her. Still. Now.

Even with her face.

Apparently rendering her speechless was enough, because Jaime grinned again, and deliberately let his leg rest against hers. Brienne didn’t move away. 

“Brave,” he echoed, and Brienne covered her sudden desire to kiss him senseless by taking a deep sip of her coffee. It would probably be unwelcome and rude. Probably.

She reminded herself that she didn’t really know him anymore, not  _ really. _ Looking out over the water, it was easy to ignore her heart telling her otherwise. 

“You were always braver than you let yourself believe,” Brienne murmured into her cup. “You were always so much better than you let yourself believe. I hope that if nothing else, you started to see that.” Jaime’s leg tenses next to hers. 

“Mmm. You always had more faith in me than I had for myself,” he said. “Brave. Stubborn. Indomitable. I always liked that about you, Queen Bee. All of which to say I’m hoping flattery will get you to forgive that I was avoiding your rowing invitation. I kept waiting for you to ask me to coffee, or for a private tour of your museum, but no, not you. Just 5:30, the water, and us in separate boats.”

“You WERE! I knew it! You should have just said, Jaime.”

“You’re fixating on the wrong thing,” he complained, thumping his leg against hers. “In any case, I was also waiting on something. Here, wait here a moment, I’ll show you.” Jaime set his coffee down and stood. Brienne started to rise as well, but he put his good hand on her shoulder to keep her down. She was still in her workout gear, and the thin spandex of her sensible, moisture-wicking tank suddenly didn’t seem like enough clothing. He lingered a moment, fingertips trailing over the sun-warmed skin on her bared shoulders, thumb pressing into the spot where her clavicle met her trapezius. “Just wait here, Brienne,” he said, and ducked back down the hall before she could do something stupid, like surge up and kiss him solidly into the wall. Her heart was racing, and she sank heavily into her chair. 

There was no mistaking  _ that. _ That was… that… 

Maybe Jaime had regrets about their brief college friendship, too. 

She sat for several long minutes, staring out at the water. Her thoughts were swirling and her heart was pounding hard. Don’t deny it, Sansa had said. It was okay for Brienne to be attracted to him. She was attracted to him. And… impossible though it seemed, apparently Jaime felt the same. Or at least  _ something.  _ Friends didn’t… that wasn’t friendly. Friendly was spotting each other on the free weights. And what had he said, that he was waiting for her to ask for coffee or to her museum? It all clicked, and Brienne suddenly felt like an idiot. She  _ had _ been fixating on the wrong thing. Everything about this morning. This was a  _ date _ .

Sansa was never going to let her live it down, so Brienne vowed Sansa would  _ never _ know. 

She was still a jumble of emotion when Jaime finally returned, holding a small black case about the size of a book. 

“What’s this?” she asked. She was proud of herself for not scooting away when he set himself a little closer this time. He unzipped the case and pulled out a… hand?

“This my bionic replacement,” he said. “I couldn’t remember where I had put it, and it needed charging before I could wear it again. I can’t row with this.” He wiggled the curled fingers of his truncated hand.

“A prosthetic? I didn’t know you had one,” she said, scooting closer to look at it as he slid the socket over the notch left by his missing fingers.

“I haven’t been wearing it, but if you want us to row again, I’ll need it. It’s taken a bit of time to get readjusted to using it” he said, pulling the straps tight. “And I’ve been trying to remember how to hold things with it. Texting is a bit of a struggle, but it was without the damn thing on anyway.” He held up his arm, letting her examine the sleek black prosthetic in the morning light. It fit over his hand like a glove, his remaining fingers exposed but with flat black pads slid over the tips and metal supports arching back to his wrist. The prosthetic fingers look robotic, thin fingers with fat joints, all black matte and covered with some sort of thin silicone. He gestured and his hand closed, then flexed and it opened once more. Brienne itched to touch it, but it seemed rude to grab at his prosthetic. 

“I don’t know why, but I expected it to be golden,” she said, and it startled a laugh out of him. 

“Really, Brienne, I was rich, not tacky,” he said with a grin. 

“This from the man who had his college apartment in red to match his ancient house colors.” 

“It’s myoelectric, but the manual finger joints help me with my grip,” he continued, ignoring her. “I can’t straighten my other fingers any more, and there’s not really enough left for me to pick up particularly heavy things with this hand.” 

Brienne thought about it, looked down at her own and then at his. “Why don’t you wear it all the time?” She asked, wondering what the downside of it would be. 

“It’s not perfect,” he said with a sigh. He flexed, then stretched his fingers, frowning at the slight delay and his apparent inability to make all four lie completely flat. “I’ve been told if I use it all the time the response would get better, but it’s… uncomfortable, I suppose. A reminder that it’s not  _ real _ . I can pick up some things, but I don’t always trust my grip with it, and it’s usually easier to just go without. The batteries sit fine at my wrist for daily activities, holding things, but I can’t feather an oar properly with it on. Without it I can’t  _ hold _ an oar. It’s a hand that is not  _ my _ hand. It feels alien. After the accident, when I was first fitted for it, the phantom pains would practically lock my arm and remaining fingers so tight I would nearly cry. They said that this would help with them, because it would almost be like moving my fingers, but I suppose it wasn’t enough to properly trick my brain.”

“That sounds… frustrating,” Brienne replied. He held it out to her, shook his fingers to encourage her touch. Brienne set her cup down and reached out for his hand. He watched her intently, and she slid her fingertips against the metal joints of the robotic prosthetic. 

“I’ve been practicing,” he said suddenly, and she looked up at him. He had leaned in closer, watching her examining his fingertips, and there was a look of…. She couldn’t tell what it was in his eyes, but it was something he felt deeply. The robotic fingers tightened around hers for a moment, and Brienne reflexively tightened back. “To row. I’ve been practicing with it for the past week to see if I can. The wrist isn’t great for feathering, there’s a plastic bit that goes around the back of my hand that digs in a bit. The oar sometimes goes a little loose in my grip despite me being desperate to hold onto it. I don’t think I can keep up with your pace, either.” 

The texture of his prosthetic was strange: there was a nubby rubber covering over his extended palm, the motors hummed under their silicone skin, and the black grips on his remaining fingers were ridged and a little rough. It was elegant, in its way, and more than a little science-fiction. She wondered if anyone else had ever touched it before, like it was normal. 

“I think you could,” she challenged, holding his hand a little more tightly. “I think you absolutely could. There’s only one way to find out. Keep practicing with it, and we’ll go out on the water. I’ll remind you why we both fell in love with rowing.” She took a deep breath and smiled at him, looked him full in the face for it. Her scarred cheek wouldn’t lift up as high, and her skin pulled the way it always did, but she smiled as wide as she could. “It won’t be the same, but I don’t know if that’s such a bad thing, in the end.”

“I don’t suppose it is,” he agreed softly, leaning forward. His good hand reached up and he paused. “May I?”

Brienne nodded, and his fingers touched the ridge of her scar, tracing the jagged curve of it from her temple down the curve of her cheek, feeling the knotty tissue just by her nose and the indent near her chin. She took in a deep, shuddering breath, staring up at him helplessly, rooted to the spot and putty in his hands. 

No one touched her scars aside from her medical professionals and her own hands. She hadn’t let them. Tormund had tried, and she always batted his hands away. He’d had scars, sure, but none were like this, and he was always a tad too rough with her regardless. He’d expected her to be the same as the stoic, sneering women of his home. 

But Jaime trusted her with his hand, and she trusted him with her face.

“Bee..” he murmured, leaning forward. Her heart started to pound, and she tipped her face up, forward, because he was going to kiss her, he was going to  _ kiss her _ , and —

“ _ LANNISTER!  _ Where  _ are _ you?!” 

Jaime jerked back as though he’d been dunked in the river, and Brienne sprang back as though she were a naughty teenager. 

He groaned. “Fuck you and your timing, Hildy,” he muttered, taking a deep breath and tipping back in his chair. 

A short, surprisingly curvaceous woman came stomping up the steps, glaring fiercely at Jaime when she burst onto the widow’s walk. “You said you’d have the invoicing done  _ three days ago, _ ” she said through gritted teeth. “And instead you’re up here to make out with your girlfriend? Do you know how much extra work you’re causing us?!” 

“Hildy, Brienne, Brienne, Hildy,” Jaime said blandly, looking for all the world like he was bored. Brienne saw his hand twitch into a fist then relax back out of it. 

“Yes, hi, hello, thank you for making him too distracted to do his actual real job for the past month,” Hildy said, waving at Brienne. She felt tremendously guilty, then annoyed. Brienne hadn’t done anything wrong, even if she had been about to kiss him. 

“Hildy is the coach for the intermediary team, not our accountant, so I’m not sure why she’s so angry today,” Jaime continued laconically, and Hildy glared. 

“Because Pia hasn’t been able to track you down and is in tears! Do you  _ not _ want her to be able to close out the budget and let us all get paid for our work? I  _ swear _ .”

Brienne stood up, adjusted her hair again and gave Hildy a polite smile. Hildy’s eyes widened, and she looked up at Brienne with the calculating eye of a coach recognizing talent. “I’m going to head out,” she said. “I didn’t realize I was keeping him away from work.”

“You’re  _ not _ –” Jaime started, but Hildy glared at him again and he rolled his eyes. 

“I understand how he can be,” Hildy said with a sigh. “And for the record, this wasn’t exactly how I imagined meeting Jaime’s girlfriend. Has he tried recruiting you yet? Because I’ve seen you out a few mornings. You’re damn good, you should be on our teams. Or at least coaching.”

“She’s going to be coaching  _ me _ ,” Jaime said proudly. He didn’t correct Hildy on the girlfriend comment, Brienne noticed, and she felt something warm glow in her heart. 

“Too much, too personal,” Hildy lobbed back. 

“Not like  _ that—”  _ he snapped.

“Then you’re blowing an opportunity, my friend. Now please, canoodle when you are not creating a backlog of work for your other employees.” She held the door open, gesturing for them exaggeratedly. 

Jaime breathed out a huge sigh of frustration, then turned back to Brienne, embarrassed. He opened his mouth to apologize, and she held up a hand to stop him. 

“There will be canoodling next time,” she said with a shy smile. “But the coaching will be very serious. We’ll start next week.” 

Jaime grinned, stepped forward and pressed a soft kiss to her uninjured cheek. “I look forward to it,” he said, then started the walk back to his office.

“...I swear working with him is like living in a soap opera,” Hildy muttered. “Seven help me.” She sighed and looked at Brienne, a little apologetic. “I am sorry to interrupt. I wouldn’t have if we weren’t so behind. Billing closes tomorrow, and he has to approve a lot of this stuff.”

“No, I do understand,” Brienne said sympathetically. “Good luck getting it all done.”

Hildy looked up at her again. She was short, and too curvy to be a real powerhouse rower… maybe a cox? “...No, but seriously, you should try out for one of the teams here. You’d be a star.”

“No thank you,” Brienne said with a polite smile. “Apparently I’m going to be Jaime’s coach. That’s enough for me.” 


End file.
